Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. ’ Gerald moved to the long sofa, dusted it with elaborate care with one of its cushions, and with a gesture invited her to sit down. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad. Mrs Sindlesham’s wrinkled cheek had paled, and her eyes were fixed upon Gerald in a look that wrung his heart. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. Nigel Ennison was he. " "Do not speak of it," rejoined Thames, with a look of horror. Now He has taken that out and given it form and beauty—you!" "Wonderful hand!" Ruth seized his right hand and kissed it. .
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